The Last Beautiful Girl
by DefiantGravy
Summary: An alternate version of 3.07 "I Kissed a Girl."
1. Chapter 1

The one where I rewrite "I Kissed a Girl." Goddamnit Glee.

Title: The Last Beautiful Girl

Summary: I have a lot of issues with the writing on Glee. I love a lot of the songs and a lot of the characters (and even more of the actors). And the writers are always setting up fantastic stories… and then abandoning them or turning them into something awful. During "I Kissed a Girl" I was actually yelling at my TV.

I should perhaps take the show a bit less seriously.

Anyway, I'm picking up where ep 3.06 ended, dropping the storylines I don't care about from 3.07, and hopefully setting things up to more or less work for canon in 3.08 (I don't know why, it's not like the writers care about continuity).

Warnings: Some of this will be in Santana's POV, and perhaps you're aware: she's mean and can use some bad words. I don't think it's anything worse than we've seen on the show. Other assorted warnings for other POV characters as they pop up.

Spoilers for season three through 3.07.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, it wouldn't have as many funny songs or darkly comic moments. But man, the continuity would be better.

Also, I'm taking some dialogue directly from the episodes, especially at the beginning as I pick up the story from 3.06 (Mash-Off).

The roar and the drum and the energy of the Adele mash-up turned quiet in its closing notes. As it ended, Finn turned to whisper something in Rachel's ear, and Santana noticed. She leapt off the stage as everyone else clapped, pointing an accusing finger at Finn and Rachel and demanding, "_What_ did you just say to her?"

Finn stammered, "I said I thought you were great."

"No," Santana breathed, "you're lying."

Rachel looked confused, but protested, "No, he literally just said that!"

Santana whirled towards Finn. "You tell her too?"

Mr. Schue warned, "Santana," and started to stand.

Santana pointed at Finn. "Everyone's going to know now, because of you." She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Finn blinked. "The whole school already knows, and you know what? They don't care."

Santana started talked over his last few words. "Not just the school, you _idiot_. _Everyone_!

Finn started to reply, but his, "What are you talking a-" was cut off by a resounding slap.

For a few seconds, the room was absolutely still, the kind of shocked silence that pools around words and gets them stuck in the throat. Then the two teachers seemed to remember themselves, and started talking over each other in unison.

Mr. Schue's, "Santana, that was out of line!" mingled with Ms. Corcoran's, "What on earth is going on?"

"You know what's going on," Santana snarled at Finn, or Mr. Schue, or the room in general. She looked ready to hit him again, and Brittany grabbed at her hand. Santana shrugged her off.

"Be that as it may," said Mr. Schue carefully, "that doesn't give you the right to hit anyone. Go to the principal's office. Tell them your parents will need to be called. I'll be along in a minute."

"So will I," Ms. Corcoran promised. "Finn, you should probably come too."

"I didn't hit _anyone_," Santana sneered. "I just hit _Finn_. In the head. So, nowhere important." She stalked out of the room, all dark curls and cutting eyes. Mr. Schue waited for a dazed-looking Finn to get up and asked if he thought he needed an ice pack as they headed out.

Ms. Corcoran offered, "It was a great job, all of you. I'm sorry it didn't end on a better note." Not noticing her inadvertent pun, she turned on her heel and left, absently dismissing the clubs on her way out.

Of course, no one left. They clustered around each other to whisper questions and speculation about what was going on. No one seemed to have seen Santana since lunch, and she'd showed up for their mash-off just in time. She hadn't talked to anyone before the music started, not even Brittany.

Three things happened that night.

1. Santana came out to her parents.

She waited outside Principal Figgins's office for over twenty minutes, eyes narrowed as she watched the teachers talk to him through the glass. Mr. Schue had sent Finn to the nurse's office. She was glad. If he'd been there in front of her, if she'd had to see his entitled white straight male face for even a second of those 23 minutes, she would have slapped him again. She would have enjoyed it. She hoped his cheek bruised and turned colors. She wondered when the ad would start airing. When she wouldn't be able to pretend anymore.

Her father couldn't make it, of course, he was busy at the hospital. Graciela Lopez, when she arrived, spoke softly, haltingly. Although her English was flawless, she was accustomed to Jorge speaking for her (a fact that usually enraged Santana, but which now put off the inevitable just a little longer).

Figgins said she'd be suspended for two weeks because she'd struck another student and that William McKinley High School had a strict no-bullying policy. Mr. Schue said the attack had been unprovoked. She bit back her laughter, and it felt bitter against her teeth. Queer little Hummel spent half his freshman year in the trash. Jewfro had a neck brace for a week after a particularly enthusiastic swirly led to a pulled muscle. Coach Sylvester pushed people down the stairs and ran practices that most police departments would qualify as assault.

Then Finn said it was a stage slap. He didn't have a reason, and everyone knew it was a lie, but Figgins was happy to smoothen over the little incident. It probably would help him avoid a report. Finn had his big dumb "I Fixed That Because I'm The Leader" grin.

Santana wanted to hit him again. She would have wondered what his game was if she thought he had some game afoot. But he probably thought he could _save_ her and he could fix everything. He probably expected some kind of _apology_.

Santana managed to not punch him in the nose as the adults all apologized to each other for wasting each other's time, managed to unclench her fists before anyone saw. Her mother said in Spanish, "Get your homework. I'll drive you home," and Santana managed to avoid Finn and everyone else as she went to her locker. The school day had finished some time earlier, after all, and the hallways were empty.

Her mother made dinner, saying only that they would talk when her father got home. Santana waited in her room. She deleted all the texts and voicemails on her phone without reading or listening to them. Except Brittany's—she could never just delete something from Brittany—but even those she couldn't listen to yet.

She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to be that lesbo, that dyke, to be looked at like something _defective_. She stared at herself in her bedroom mirror. She looked normal. Better than normal: the hot girl every guy wanted.

She cried.

She reapplied her makeup when she saw Daddy's silver Porsche turning into the driveway. She dressed in layers and slipped some cash and her phone and her credit cards in her pocket in case she was thrown out with the clothes on her back. She didn't think that would happen but she knew that it could. She tucked the mace she took to college parties in another pocket. Just in case.

When she got downstairs, her mom had clearly already told her daddy what little she knew. They sat together in the sitting room, the three of them, her daddy working off his tie and turning his intelligent gaze on her, her mother making sure the coffee table books were evenly spaced.

"Mom. Daddy. I've…." How could she begin? She could imagine Brit's answer to that. _Begin at the beginning, silly_. Her voice grew stronger. "I've fallen in love."

Her daddy's brow furrowed, surely wondering what that had to do with her hitting someone. "With… that boy Finn?"

Her mom was already shaking her head when Santana answered. "No." She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. "With… Brittany."

"Oh," said her mom. "Oh, sweetie." She put her hand on Santana's.

Her father hadn't said anything yet. Santana couldn't even look at him. She stared at her mom's hand, resting on her own, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"We don't choose who we fall in love with," Daddy pronounced after a pause that seemed to last a hundred years. Santana looked up at him then, in time to see his fond look towards his wife. How many times had she heard the story of their courtship, how he was engaged when they met and how Graciella fought for him, how none of Santana's grandparents had approved at first?

He looked back at her, and Santana saw the same pride and affection as always. It was so… anticlimactic. But then, she still had more to tell them.

"There's… more," she said haltingly. Her mother gripped her hand. This time, she forced herself to maintain eye contact as she confessed, "One of Coach Sylvester's opponents somehow found out. The pizza guy. He's running an ad saying she must be a lesbian since she… since she appointed me head cheerleader. And there's a _picture_ of me, and it'll be on _TV_, Daddy."

She gasped when her mom grasped her hand tightly then, and her daddy abruptly stood, but then he wrapped his arms around her and she was crying again, sobbing into his shoulder. "We'll sue the hell out of him," he murmured against her ear. "He can't do that you're a minor and a private citizen. We'll bankrupt him and use the money to buy you something expensive." That coaxed a smile out of her, through the tears.

The timer on the stove went off and her mom hurried to get it. Dinner was entirely surreal, her parents asking polite questions about whether she and Brit were _girlfriends_ and Santana didn't know how to answer that question at all. Maybe they thought it was a phase or just didn't believe her but god they were acting the way they needed them to, and when she explained about Finn and his big flapping lips shouting across the hallway, they approved of her response. "He's lucky you just hit him once," murmured her mother, usually the pacifist.

"If you'd been suspended I'd have taken you to Chicago for a few weeks," her daddy said. "We can go this weekend, if you want."

She couldn't believe it, she just couldn't. And for some reason she just kept wanting to cry. She wouldn't call Brit back tonight, she'd help her daddy wash the dishes and let them rope her into playing cards with them. She'd thank them, awkwardly, and make plans to tell her abuela, not noticing her parents' concerned glances.

She loved her parents. But she _hated_ Finn Hudson, and she'd never, ever forgive him.

2. That night, Kurt yelled at Finn.

They didn't go home together. They rarely did. Anyway, Finn stayed after, going to see Figgins in all. He saw how Santana tensed when Figgins suspended her, and he felt, like, really bad about outing her although really everyone had known already. So he stepped in and pretended it had been a pretend slap even though it totally wasn't and his face really hurt. And afterwards he worked out a while even though there wasn't practice that day. So overall he was really wiped and looking forward to eating one of Kurt's awesome dinners and crashing, and OK maybe playing some video games after because it had been an awful day all around, and then he got home and Kurt was waiting for him looking all pissy.

And Blaine, who was always around and it was really unfair that he was over more than Rachel, was there to hear it all too, which Finn just didn't need.

"Finn," Kurt bit out, "Did you out Santana today?"

"What?" Honestly, he hadn't even gotten his shoes off yet. "No!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow in that "are you being dumb on purpose?" way, even though he'd sworn to Finn he didn't have an expression for that. ("Well, not _just_ for that," he'd amended, and it had been a joke but not really mean, because they were brothers. He wasn't smiling now though.)

"What happened, then?" Kurt asked. "Because she was really mad today."

"Santana's always mad these days," Finn grumbled. "She's just so mean, all the time, and I was trying to get the glee clubs to just get along. Because you know, we're supposed to be friends. And, uh, I know how much you miss Mercedes." Kurt tilted his head as if in acknowledgement. "I don't know. She was saying all this mean stuff about how I'm fat and she just wouldn't_ stop_ and—and I'm just tired of it. Of how she's so mean because she's in love with Brittany and won't admit it. She's kind of a coward really. Not like you guys. You're like, really brave."

Kurt's expression was neutral now, and he seemed paler. "And you told her this?"

"Yeah."

"And where exactly were you when you told her this?"

"At school?"

Kurt rubbed his forehead. He must be getting a headache for some reason because usually he was all against touching his face. He'd just given Finn a lecture the other day about how that made the face oily and made you get more pimples. "Well yeah, at school. Just in the hallway."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged one of their Significant Looks, and Kurt said, "That's a public place, Finn, and while it may seem like everyone at school knows about Santana and Brittany, she's not actually out. Or she wasn't. Do you understand that? You don't ever, ever out someone, Finn."

He hadn't raised his voice at all, but Finn got the impression that Kurt was actually really, really upset and was yelling at him, in a Kurt-like kind of way. "I didn't mean to out her."

Kurt sighed. "Maybe not, but you did, Finn. I stopped by the garage after school and Dad told me Reggie Salazar found out somehow, he has a niece at McKinley or something. And it's going to be featured in a new ad he's running against Sue. Everyone in the 4th Congressional District will know."

That was awful, but, "That's not because of me!"

"It wouldn't be possible without you, though. Finn… I don't think you can understand how bad this is. I know Santana's been awful lately, but no one deserves to be forced out of the closet against their will, no matter who they are or what they've done."

Blaine hummed and said easily, "Unless they're physically threatening you."

Kurt's mouth thinned even more, which Finn wouldn't have believed was possible. "Not even then."

They exchanged another Look, and OK it bothered Finn a lot that Blaine seemed to think he knew Kurt best when Finn had known Kurt longer and also they were brothers and all. "Um, Santana didn't threaten me. Unless you count her hitting me, but that was after I said that thing."

And then Kurt stopped looking at Blaine and looked at Finn again, and he looked really disappointed and kind of angry, "This really isn't OK, Finn. People still get thrown out of their homes for being gay. People still get _killed_ for being gay. Or have you somehow spent the past year unaware of the anonymous phone calls we still get?"

Finn gaped at him, and Kurt softened a little. "I know Santana's been awful to you lately, and I know it probably seemed like you were just giving her a taste of her own medicine. But you don't throw around someone's sexuality like that. I expected more from you."

He paused, and Finn offered, a little desperate, "I'll fix this. I'll make it up to her." He hadn't seen this particular mix of emotions on Kurt's face very often. When he'd called Kurt's things faggy. When Kurt announced he was leaving McKinley. When he sat next to Finn on the couch after prom, stirring his warm milk and telling Finn about the election results.

Blaine answered for Kurt. "This isn't something easily fixed, Finn. We appreciate that you're an ally, but straight people just don't understand what it means to come out."

Finn bristled a little at Blaine's tone—the guy was annoying, OK?—and Kurt noticed. "Finn, there's a lot Blaine and I, and Santana, can't control about being gay. We can't know how our friends and family will react. The only thing we can control is the time and place and _way_ we come out, and you took that away from Santana."

Finn promised again, "I'll fix this."

Kurt did look ready to yell then, but Blaine took his hand and kind of stroked it, and the anger drained away and Kurt just looked tired. "Fine, then. See that you do." And he swept away upstairs with Blaine trailing after.

When Finn knocked on his door an hour later, Kurt snipped at him that Burt was eating at the garage, and Finn's mom was on nights this week, remember? And he and Blaine were going out to Breadstix, and Finn could feed himself, he wasn't a child. And his mom wanted to remind him to stay away from the George Foreman.

There was some leftover pizza in the fridge so Finn ate that, and also made some sandwiches, and he found some leftover Halloween candy in the freezer and snuck some of it. He finally went out to the nearest gas station and got a ton of snacks, but even after finishing the last Twizzler he felt unsettled and strangely empty.

3. Around 4 in the morning, Finn came up with a plan.

This would totally work! The glee clubs would be able to show Santana their support, and it'd be a great way for Finn to apologize, and singing a bunch of cool lady songs would definitely make her feel better. She wouldn't go for it at first, but he could just remind her that he saved her from being suspended for two weeks and missing sectionals.

Once Santana forgave him Kurt wouldn't give him disappointed looks and maybe he could even stop the lectures and disappointment from spreading to Rachel.

Man, he always came up with the best ideas after eating Cheetos and Ranch dip. 

a/n: God, I have 20 papers to grade by tomorrow and I wrote this instead. It'd be nice, though unrealistic, for the whole thing to be up before the next episode. We'll see. Oh and ps-are there any lj communities where this might fit? I have an lj that I've literally never used.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow guys, thanks for the alerts and even a couple favorites and reviews! I hope the rest of it doesn't disappoint! Since this is my first crack at Glee fiction, and the episodes in question were so polarizing, I hope my characterizations are OK.

And while I still hope to end this in a way that doesn't contradict the upcoming 3.08, I discovered after three attempts at writing this chapter that I can't just add to canon scenes, I need to change some stuff too.

Part 2:

When Santana woke up the next day, she was alone in the house.

There was nothing unusual about this. Her daddy left for work early so he could read his three newspapers and clear his head before patients started arriving. And he'd have even more to do today, contacting his lawyer and setting the ball rolling to end Reggie Salazar. Santana's mom was part of a jogging club that met early in the morning. Sunrise jogging, they called it.

Still, as she slipped on her cheerleading uniform and tied up her hair, it was easy to imagine their acceptance the night before had been only a dream. "I still have Brittany," she told herself. "I still have my family. I don't need anything else."

She listened to her message from Brittany. "I don't know why you're mad," Brit murmured. "But I want to give you a big hug with our boobs touching, and pet your hair, and give you lady kisses until you're happy again." The ad still hadn't aired yet when she left the message, or if had Brit hadn't understood it. This was the girl who talked on air about Santana playing for both teams, after all. There were more messages from other people in Glee, but she deleted them again.

She still wasn't sure whether the ad had run yet until she got to school and saw everyone staring at her, and not in the intimidated/aroused way they usually did. Smirking. Whispers. It was a relief to see Brit handing out Pixy Stix and trilling "eat candy and vote for me."

A smile tugged at Santana's lips, but before she could step forward to her girl, someone asked, "So, are you gay too then? Do you like girls?"

Brit flashed her artless smile and said brightly, "I love everybody. I love pretty people and having sexy fun times all the time." The students accepted that (the sugar might have helped) but Santana's smile faltered. For just a moment, Brittany's expression seemed more knowing, more calculating. Then she saw Santana and turned the full force of her smile onto her, and it was so guileless and innocent, Santana felt bad for doubting her for even a second. It was Santana who'd always resisted going public, not Brittany. Brit handed her a Pixy Stick and whispered, "Vote for me," in the low voice only Santana ever got to hear.

They brushed fingertips before Santana walked away, but she felt unsettled and vaguely nauseous. And then she nearly ran into Blubber Boy and did feel ill. She lifted her chin and made to move around him.

Naturally, he fell into step beside her. "Santana. Hi. I was just looking for you. Look, I feel really bad about yesterday, and I know it won't be easy to make it up to you but I was thinking and—hey, slow down—I was thinking that with how we've kind of been at each other these past few weeks, that you probably don't even know how awesome you are. And—oops sorry dude, jeez you can walk fast Santana—and when you hide that awesomeness it's no wonder you hurt inside and, you know, act out—"

Santana stopped and turned to face him. "You condescending asshole! Is that supposed to be some kind of apology? Because it sucks, nearly as much as you did in bed. Get it through your misshapen bucket of a head; I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. Get the hell away from me."

Finn gaped at her for a moment, but as she started to walk away he called after her, "I saw Principal Figgins on my way in today. He asked me if I was sure about what I said yesterday. He thought maybe I was lying to protect you."

Santana had an eerie sense of déjà vu. She stood with her back to him, clutching her books to her chest. He wasn't shouting, but if another student was listening, there was nothing private about this conversation. Without turning around, she hissed, "I suppose even you are able to come up with a demand in the span of 12 hours. What do you want?"

"Come back to Glee Club this week. I have an idea for a lesson, but it won't work if you're not there. I already talked to Mr. Schue about it and everything."

Anything Mr. Schue approved of was sure to be excruciating, but what choice did she have? Two weeks in Chicago she wouldn't mind, but she _had_ to be at Sectionals, if for no other reason than to wipe that self-satisfied look off Hudson's face. God, she couldn't believe she'd slept with that.

This close to Sectionals, Glee met before school and after, when there were no conflicting sports practices. Santana reluctantly texted the other Troubletones to come to the choir room. A few minutes later, everyone was there. Finn spoke urgently to Mr. Schue, who smiled and nodded and sat among the students. Ms. Corcoran was there too. Finn stood awkwardly at the front.

"So," he said. "Almost two years ago now, I was here in this room and I was in a really bad place. I know Quinn was too. She'd been kicked out of her house and I was just totally freaked out and overwhelmed. I felt like no one could understand what I was going through. Um, besides Quinn." He nodded to her; Santana couldn't see her reaction.

"And then you guys all sang "Lean On Me" to us, and I don't know about Quinn, but even though you still didn't know how I felt, and even though it didn't fix anything, I still felt better, like I wasn't alone. And the situation still sucked, but I knew I had you guys there supporting us however you could."

Santana was reluctantly impressed. Was Finn actually capable of being sensitive? Of course then he ruined it by writing "Lady Music" on the whiteboard and singing a slowed-down version of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" while sitting uncomfortably close to her. The only thing that kept her in her seat, besides Finn's blackmail, was Brittany's hand lightly rubbing her back.

"Wow," she said when he was done. "Thanks so much, Finn. After all the horrible crap I've been though in my life, now I get to add that." She felt selfish pleasure when that wiped the smiles off everyone's faces, and fixed Finn with a hard look.

Finn frowned. "You didn't like it?"

"You imbecile!" she snapped. "What exactly was the message there? That this is somehow fun for me? That what I have with Brittany is some kind of casual fling?"

"No," Finn protested. "I just thought it was nice and, you know, empowering."

From over to her right, Kurt said wryly, "You don't know how lucky you are. I talked him out of _Avenue Q_'s "If You Were Gay"." And here Santana had thought that now that he had his very own pocket-sized boyfriend, Kurt wouldn't need to rescue Finn from his own mouth anymore.

Finn seized on the help, though. "Didn't you say you and Blaine had a song that fit the occasion?"

Blaine answered for him, "I think I know the one you mean. We sing it to each other in the car all the time."

As they got up, Santana grumbled, "You two sing lady music to each other in the _car_? Why oh why am I not surprised?"

And alright, she might have felt an ounce of emotion sneaking up on her when Kurt sang the verses to P!nk's "Fucking Perfect", terrible compassion in his expression as he sang "Mistaken, misplaced misunderstood, Miss 'no way it's all good', it didn't slow me down..." As he welcomed her to his life.

But his boy toy's ridiculous rap and their cheesy dance moves took care of any gooey feelings she could have gotten. And she'd have respected them more if they'd left P!nk's profanities in, but they were way too vanilla for that.

"What a great plan," she growled as they finished, loosely hugging each other and grinning at the applause. "Finnessa made me sick to my stomach and then you pretty ponies fed me pure sugar. What could possibly go wrong?"

Before anyone could respond, the bell rang. "Mr. Schue?" Kurt asked as people grabbed their bags, "could you write late passes for Santana and myself?"

"That won't be necessary," Santana told him, reaching to link her pinky with Brit's.

But Brittany rubbed her back once more and pulled away. "I think it's a good idea. You're not acting like a unicorn right now." Mr. Schue was already scribbling out the passes and handing them to Kurt. Santana sighed pointedly and sat back down.

When they were alone in the choir room she arched a brow. "Well? Did I hurt your pretty pink feelings?"

Kurt ignored this. "A part of me, an irrational part, is furious with you."

"Why, because I bitchslapped your woobie "brother"?"

"Because for so long I was alone." He looked right at her, but his gaze was far away. "I was THE gay kid at McKinley. Like it was my whole identity. I could take the comments and the slushies and the dumpster dives and all of it, but worst of all was how alone I felt. Even if you weren't out, to know that you felt some of the same things I did—it would have been such a comfort to me. And if you _had_ come out; you, a popular, pretty cheerleader… I would have looked up to you so much. I would have had so much more hope."

He sighed. "I know that's unfair to you and that everyone's process is different. Maybe you didn't even know you were gay for some of that time. But I want it anyway. A part of me feels like you watched me struggle, knowing you could lessen that, and just didn't feel like it. Like you didn't think you're gay the same _way_ as me. You could make jokes because maybe you liked girls, but you could pass at least."

Santana didn't know how to respond to that and fiddled with her hands, examining her nail beds. Kurt was a big part of the reason she'd never intended to come out in high school, after all. She saw how he was treated. She didn't want that for herself.

Kurt sighed. "As for Finn…. Do you want to talk about it?"

Santana snorted. "With _you_?"

"We've both dealt with coming out. Even when you're not pushed out of the closet, it's still terrifying. I can't count the number of hours I spent worrying over it, planning speeches I lost the courage to voice. When I did finally come out to my dad, it was really anticlimactic, but I still felt such relief and confidence."

She nearly started talking then; she would have if she'd had any idea what to say. But she didn't know how to put the emotions churning inside of her into words. Her family and friends were supportive; why did she still feel so broken inside?

Kurt waited a minute, but when she didn't speak he handed over the hall pass. "You have my phone number. And if you don't, Brittany definitely does. I'm not going anywhere." Santana fled.

* * *

><p>Rachel had saved Kurt the seat next to her in physics, and he slid into in gratefully, mouthing "Not now."<p>

After class, she trailed after him towards his locker. "How's she doing?"

"Not great. Would you be?"

"I should tell her my gay dads would be happy to talk to her. And that I am also of course a strong ally. I'm almost finished composing a Powerpoint presentation for Finn that I believe will impress on him the seriousness of what he's done."

Kurt rolled his eyes, and spotting Blaine, headed his way. Rachel trotted after him, and they'd barely reached Blaine when they were waylaid by Jacob ben Israel, who leered at Rachel and informed Kurt that he was going to lose the day's election.

That was all it took to shift Rachel's attention. "Have you seen Brittany passing out candy, bribing the voters? Even Principal Figgins had some! She's blatantly buying votes, Kurt, so here's what I was thinking: we stage a musical number after fourth period when—"

"Or I could try bribing them too," Kurt said whimsically. "I could detail everyone's car for free."

Blaine glanced around to see if anyone was watching them and then pecked Kurt's cheek. "Offer free style advice."

"I could even take away the rejected clothes to be burned. That would be so thoughtful of me."

Blaine grinned. "You could provide answer keys for French and Spanish tests. Wes studies German, I bet we could talk him into something even from Dalton."

"Or I could just pull a JFK and stuff the ballot boxes," Kurt mused.

Rachel stared at them, astounded. "Are you actually considering cheating? Kurt, you can't!"

Kurt shrugged expressively. "Running a clean campaign hasn't been paying off, has it? As it stands right now, I have no chance at getting into NYADA, and you know it." Rachel stood rooted to the spot as he and Blaine walked away, tossing more bribery ideas back and forth (Manicures! Lessons on how to not eat like a caveman!). Neither noticed the sudden determined sparkle in her eyes. Though neither saw her at lunch, they both assumed she was voting before she ate, instead of after.

Blaine walked with Kurt to the gymnasium. "I wish I could vote for you," he murmured, squeezing Kurt's hand.

"I wish you could too." As he waited in line, Kurt wondered how many of the students waiting to vote saw the election as anything more than a popularity contest. He wondered why he'd come to care so much, even beyond NYADA. As he dropped the pale blue paper into the ballot box, he felt like all of his dreams were flying away with it.

Afterwards, he waited for Burt and Carole to come to vote in the congressional election. Finn joined him; even though they weren't old enough to vote, there would be some local press covering the candidates and Kurt had decided a family photo was in order. Finn looked like he wanted to bring up the whole Santana debacle, but fortunately only said, "I just finished voting for you! I know you've been all down about it but Mike said he voted for you too. I think you've really got a shot."

Kurt could only manage a small smile for him, forcing it somewhat bigger when their parents arrived. "So this is just another work day for you?" a reporter asked his dad.

"I wouldn't be much of a businessman if just closed shop every time I was busy," Burt answered.

"Have you heard that Jorge Lopez is suing Reggie Salazar for gross invasion of privacy and public disclosure? Do you have a comment?"

"I fully agree with it. Salazar's last ad was desperate and crossed a line. It's one thing to run attack ads on adults running for office, but to name a minor who had nothing to do with the election was just plain wrong."

He and Carole and Finn looked so all-American together, Kurt almost hated to join them in the frame. But when Finn looked around for him and beckoned with a broad, earnest grin, Kurt went to stand with his family. There weren't very many cameras, but the lights were still hot on his face. Later that night when he ran through his moisturizing routine, he'd pretend there were dozens of cameras, all paparazzi there for him.

He'd pretend with all his might, but New York still felt impossibly far away.

* * *

><p>an: I liked the cover of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" but to me the lyrics just seemed wildly wrong for the situation. And now I can't get the image of Finn serenading Santana with "If You Were Gay" out of my head. If you don't know the song, please go have a listen, and then tell me: would that not have been hilariously inappropriate?


	3. Chapter 3

Well, I did say I wouldn't get it done before 3.08. (But I was pretty close-this is the last part.) Ironically, I haven't seen the episode yet (Glee airs at the same time as my puppy's obedience class).

Another of my issues with the episode: it's called "I Kissed a Girl" and the A story is about Santana's outing, but there's no really Santana/Brittany interaction, and no kiss. I mean really, what the hell writers?

Also: Sit. Stay. Good readers. :)

* * *

><p>Even though Coach Sylvester was busy with her election, there was still Cheerios practice after school. Santana and Becky each had a number of exercises they were responsible for, and worked the squad hard, but it was practically a vacation for the girls to not have Coach yelling at them.<p>

After practice, Santana went with Brittany to her house. Luckily, Irish wasn't around. They went up to Brit's room and started kissing without preamble, nimble fingers working off each other's clothes.

Brittany nipped at Santana's ear and sang into it, her fingers somewhere below seeking and finding. "_This would be the kiss that counted, the one that mattered_."

Her voice wavered without any instruments behind it and she slid from key to key, but it didn't matter. Her voice was husky and sounded like sex and summer. "_You say it must be 4am_," she sang roughly, "_and I say, if I don't kiss you now, I will never sleep again_." Santana arched into her words and her kisses.

Later, she asked about the song, running her fingers along the smooth curve of Brittany's hip, and Brit smiled at her. "I looked up the greatest lesbian love songs. It was Lord Tubbington's idea."

Santana wrapped Brittany in an embrace. "I love you," she breathed against Brit's cornsilk hair.

"Mm, love you too," Brittany said into her collarbone. "My beautiful girl."

Before she left to go home, Santana asked, "Do your parents know about us?"

Brit blinked. "Of course they do. I live here, and you're over all the time." Santana couldn't bring herself to clarify her question, and held Brit's declaration of love in her heart the whole way home.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe the results won't be in until tomorrow," Kurt said in exasperation, turning off the TV and tossing the remote aside.<p>

Blaine lifted his head off his boyfriend's lap and squirmed into a seated position. "Well, it's a special election, with several write-in candidates, and this is Lima. It's probably going to be a close race. Isn't it just as well they take the time to verify the results before announcing them?"

Kurt sighed. "I guess."

"Besides, this way your dad's race and your race will be announced the same day. That's exciting."

"Ugh, don't remind me. There's no way I'm going to beat Brittany. I should have just dropped out as soon as she entered the race."

"Why are you so worked up about this? Or is it just this you're upset about?"

"I really am upset about it. This is probably it for my NYADA application."

"But?"

"But I just don't know, this Finn and Santana thing. I feel like as a gay man, who gets how a big a deal coming out is, that I should be on Santana's side. But Finn's my brother."

Blaine snagged Kurt's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "You don't have to choose a side. It's not your job to fix things between them. And I don't think you should give up on NYADA yet."

* * *

><p>The school day got off to a lousy start when some asshole underclassman accosted Santana in the hallway and told her she needed a real man, that she was just a challenge. She could have handled him, even with how fragile the last few days had left her (two ways to know McKinley's rugby team was a joke: their captain was a sophomore, and Santana hadn't already been there, done that). But she didn't have to; Mercedes appeared out of nowhere telling the creeper off. All the other Glee girls were with her, Brittany and Tina, Sugar and Rachel Berry, even her old rival Quinn.<p>

Quinn said, "It's not a choice, idiot, but even if it were, you'd be our last choice."

It didn't deter her friends a bit when he tried calling them all lesbians. Berry finished the telling off, and Santana hummed a few lines of "I Kissed a Girl" in the loser's face, smirking when his eyes went wide in recognition. She was flying so high, she even had the girls join her in the choir room to sing the whole song. It was the first time she'd sung since pouring her rage and despair into the Adele mashup; now she felt triumphant and even more powerful.

Afterwards, as Puck was introducing his song (Melissa Etheridge, how typical) Tina sidled up to her with a smile. "I sang that to audition for Glee. I thought I was so edgy." She handed Santana an envelope, which she slipped into her backpack.

Puck's song was OK. He seemed to mean well, but clearly something was going on with Quinn, because his gaze kept drifting to her. The lyrics were odd too: "_I'm the only one/who'll walk across the fire for you_"? They hadn't hooked up since he caught feelings from Zizes last year. But that was fine. Lately his Mohawk was looking less badass and more like a mink had draped itself over his skull and fallen asleep there. When he finished the song, he said, "I know I was just part of a phase, but happy to oblige. Always."

Santana was completely nonplussed, but it didn't seem to matter. He wasn't looking at her anyway.

There'd been a strange up-and-down quality to the morning; the homophobe in the hall followed by the support of her friends and the fun song. When Finn approached her as practice was ending she had a sinking feeling things were about to get worse again.

Of course, she was right. Finn seemed to think they had some oh-so-special connection just because she'd taken his virginity, and that despite outing her and then blackmailing her two days in a row they had some eternal bond between them. "Give it up, Cro-Magnon. We're not friends. We're not even teammates anymore." He looked all butt-hurt over that. Spotting Kurt, Santana called, "You wanted to support me? Make Thing One back off."

When Kurt looked hesitantly between them and muttered, "Oh no, I'm not getting into the middle of this,"

Santana hissed, "What, do you still jerk off thinking about him or something?" and he visibly flinched, face flushing. Finn babbled something about lashing out but she ignored him.

She went to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and that bitch Theresa who was still bitter about being cut from the Cheerios said, "So have you run through all the guys in the school or what, Mantana?" and her airhead buddy Santana had never bothered to learn the name of said,

"You better not be checking us out."

"Please," Santana sneered. "I'm only attracted to _hot_ girls." That shut them up, but when Santana went in the stall and saw Puck's number under the "For a good time, call" graffiti crossed out, and hers in its place, she decided to just skip history. She pulled out Tina's letter. Her hands shook as she unfolded the lined paper.

_Dear Santana,_

_I'm sorry people are so stupid and mean. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to just walk up to you and give you a hug. I'm sorry you hurt._

_I know we're not the best of friends, but I'll be there for you in any way I can. I'll help you wash slushies out of your hair and lend you spare clothes. I'll help you paint over graffiti and find your things if someone hides them. I'll try to insult the people who are mean to you, but I won't be as good at it as you. I'll feed you ice cream and popcorn and watch bad movies with you. Or good movies. Whatever makes you feel better._

_You're the same person you were before and if people can't handle that, it's their problem, not yours._

_Tina_

Below her name Mike had scrawled his name, with "I agree!" and a sloppy arrow pointed up towards his girlfriend's words.

* * *

><p>They thought he'd <em>cheated<em>. And OK, he'd given it a passing thought, but he'd never seriously considered it! And yes, _fine_, that was partly because his plans had a tendency to horrifically backfire, but the point was, he _hadn't cheated_!

Not that Principal Figgins believed him, but he'd run a clean campaign, and it had come to mean more than just a line on his resume. But it still would have been that too, of course. And now it wouldn't be. He'd lost.

"Kurt? Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Kurt sighed as he turned to face Ms. Pillsbury. "Look, I don't know what you heard, but I didn't cheat, I swear."

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Please, come in."

Reluctantly, Kurt entered her office and sank into a chair.

Lacing her fingers, Ms. Pillsbury began, "I was talking to Mr. Anderson, and he said you'd expressed some concerns about The New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."

Honestly, this was the last thing Kurt wanted to talk about with her. He'd told his dad he just had to run to the bathroom and compose himself. The congressional election results were due out by noon, and the whole family had decided Burt should be at McKinley for the announcement. He was quite possibly going to be suspended. And apparently he was going to have to have another talk with Blaine about rushing to adults with things Kurt told him in confidence….

He belatedly realized Ms. Pillsbury was waiting for him to speak. "Sorry. It's just… it's everything I want, and I just don't have the resume that other people do. That Rachel has, even. I really _needed_ this election, and—"

"I'm going to stop you right there," said Ms. Pillsbury, and Kurt stared at her in shock. She'd never interrupted someone before. She raised her index finger. "First, you didn't need this election. Admissions counselors can spot resume padding from a mile away, and an elite school like NYADA will have dozens of class presidents applying. It wouldn't have made you stand out from the crowd. Your talent will do that."

"But—"

She raised a second finger. "Second, you have plenty of extracurricular activities; Glee club, football, Cheerios, and the school play, to name a few. The Glee Club went to Nationals in its second year existing! That's very impressive, Kurt."

Kurt thought of the performance he and Rachel and seen at the NYADA mixer, and opened his mouth to protest, only to slowly shut it as Ms. Pillsbury continued, "The most important part of your application will be your audition and your admissions essays. I know you can put together a strong audition, and you have a lot of material for your essays. Did you know one of Harvard's essays asks specifically about what adversity the applicant has overcome?"

Her hands dropped to the desk and she leaned forward earnestly. "Kurt, you've overcome so much. Your biggest concern will be choosing _which_ of your triumphs to highlight." Her voice was getting almost _loud_—she seemed to notice his shell-shocked expression and paused before looking at him warmly and speaking in her normal tone. "You have a great resume Kurt. Still, many people will. It may not be enough."

Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't dare move.

"That's why you should certainly apply to some other schools too. Julliard may not have a musical theater program, but NYADA is not the only one that does. Oberlin is a liberal campus with a great conservatory, and it's in Ohio, less than three hours away. In Chicago you have Northwestern, DePaul University and the Chicago College of Performing Arts.

"But maybe your heart is set on New York. I don't think it needs to be—I can picture you at a university in London, or Paris, or a conservatory like Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburg. But if it _must_ be New York, there are over a hundred universities there. You shouldn't apply to NYADA and ignore Tisch or AMDA, or any number of others."

Kurt's phone buzzed again, and this time he pulled it out. His dad was wondering where he was. "I… thanks. I have to go," he said, and made his escape.

He must have lost his mind, because there was no way prim Ms. Pillsbury (who hadn't even mentioned the allegations that he'd cheated) would be shouting after him, "And that's just BFAs in musical theater! You could major in acting! In voice! Don't you play piano?"

His father kept shooting him concerned looks during their impromptu celebration in Mr. Schue's office. Kurt was half-convinced he'd be suspended by the end of the day, and he was still unhappy with the state of his NYADA application. His mind buzzed with Ms. Pillsbury's words, too—he didn't know what to do with any of it.

"So, did you win your election?" asked a local reporter. They'd made a bit of a production out of it the previous day, hadn't they?

Something cold uncurled in Kurt's stomach, and he had to carefully put his sparkling cider down, but his answering "no" sounded casual enough.

"A pity," said the reporter. "That would have been a great human interest story."

"A pity," Kurt agreed, giving her his best smile. He was an _actor_. He could do this.

* * *

><p>The glee practice after school passed in a blur. Rachel was suspended until after sectionals for trying to rig the school elections, an excellent omen for the Troubletones. Kurt conceded the election to Brittany, and just like that, her girlfriend was class president. Now she'd have almost a week to convince Brittany that actually going topless on Tuesdays would be a bad idea, and that her parents probably wouldn't agree to buying hundreds of Pixy Stix every day.<p>

The coaches tried to get them singing, but Rachel had to leave immediately and Kurt was pale and quiet. Finn looked like he wanted to make another speech, and Puck and Quinn were in the middle of some kind of staring contest.

It wasn't the best atmosphere in which to start her song, but that just made "Constant Craving" more perfect. Because for Santana it spoke to strength, to and getting through difficult times. It was a subdued number for the two clubs, but still a heartfelt one. Santana knew these people like her own family, and she made eye contact with each of them (except for Finn and the still-quiet Kurt), hoping she conveyed her appreciation. Even as she sang, Santana was thinking ahead to how she'd tell her abuela—she was heading there after school—and was distracted enough to forget her scarf.

When she went back to the choir room to get it, she saw Artie in the otherwise emptied room, cradling an acoustic guitar. He hugged it against his body and sang softly, "It won't be the first… heart that you break, won't be the last… beautiful girl." He didn't really seem sad, just thoughtful, but Santana backed away without the scarf, walking on the balls of her feet so he wouldn't hear the clicking of her heels.

Santana thought she was ready to tell her grandmother. Her abuela didn't watch television and hadn't followed the election. If Santana didn't tell her, she'd hear from someone eventually, but this was a _real_ coming out, a time and place of Santana's choosing, born of a desire to tell rather than panic at being told _on_.

Her other grandmother had cruel, biting humor that Santana's child-self had always dreaded, at least until she could keep up with her own targeted insults, but Abuela's house had always been a place of warmth, laughter and well-cooked food. True to form, Abuela filled an enormous platter for Santana and chided her about being skin and bones.

Santana found her courage, and spoke. She spoke about her love for her abuelita, the pride and respect in which Santana held her. And she spoke about her love for Brittany, how with Brittany she understood love and courage and honesty in the context of her own life.

Her abuela didn't leap to her feet, shrieking and making the sign of the cross. She leaned back in her chair slightly, as though Santana's words were literally hitting her in the chest. Nervous, Santana pressed on, even when Abuelita dropped her gaze. Santana talked about walking around every day mad at the world, fighting with herself, and throwing that anger onto her friends. About being tired of fighting.

And then her grandmama, who held her as a child and braided ribbons in her hair, who insisted on a fiesta de quinceañera for her even as her parents questioned its necessity—her abuelita told her she should not have shared such a secret and to leave. She said, "I don't _ever_ want to see you again."

Santana felt a step removed from reality. If she pinched herself, surely her grandma would make sense again. She fleetingly remembered Tina's note and protested, "I'm the same person I was a minute ago!"

"You have made your choice," said this stranger with a familiar face. "Now I have made mine." She kept talking, about the scandal when people found out, that Santana was selfish to lay this burden at her door, to make her _uncomfortable_. Santana started crying somewhere during that, and her abuela got up and left her there alone in the kitchen, surrounded by pictures of family and memories, a heap of cooling food before her.

She waited for her grandmother to return. She wondered if she would ever run out of tears. After half an hour, she scraped the food into the garbage disposal, washed the dishes. She hovered at the foot of the stairs, wondering whether to knock on the closed bedroom door. Instead, she fled.

Both of her parents were waiting when she finally got home; she didn't know how long she'd wandered. She only managed to say, "abuelita" before the waterworks started again. Her parents embraced her, said they would talk to Abuela. Her mom said she would explain about the election, how a político de mala calidad forced the issue. Her daddy just said that he would "fix it."

Santana wasn't sure there was anything to be fixed. A hundred apologies couldn't erase what had been said. She wrenched herself from her parents' arms and locked herself in her room. She'd meant what she'd told… the older woman. She was tired of being angry all the time. She was tired, period.

She flipped her phone open and scrolled through her contacts, pausing at one number and wincing at the name she'd assigned it. She jabbed at the buttons, and a moment later the number was no longer for "Homo Hummel" but for just "Kurt." She stared at it for a while, pressing an arrow key when the background light timed off.

She swiped at her eyes, pressed _call_ with her thumb, raised the phone to her ear.

* * *

><p>(and that should set up about where we are at the start of 3.08, so: The End!)<p>

(and eventually Santana and Finn will be OK again, but it will take time)

(and I apparently really want Santana and Kurt to bond and become friends). (They can mock plebian lesser beings together, and Kurt can call her on it when she's being too cruel, and she can call him on the endless self-pitying).

Other notes:

-I know a little Chinese, but no Spanish; Google translate says "político de mala calidad" means "sleazy politician."

-Much like Glee's actual writers, I put my own opinions into the mouths of the characters. [Sorry about that. But at least _**I**_ know there's more than one school out there for musical theater.]

-Brittany sang Santana "Kiss That Counted," by Catie Curtis.

-Artie sang "The Last Beautiful Girl" by Matchbox 20, [and look, since I titled the story it's been stuck in my head.][I did include that odd little Artie moment for a reason though.]

-Sorry for the long notes. Thanks again for reading! I really appreciate it, and your reviews.


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